In Dark Places
by Kanthia
Summary: A series of Fire Emblem drabbles written in part for the 365 Drabble Challenge. Contains spoilers. 24: Life back home, Eliwood discovers, is killing him.
1. Not Again

**Title**: Not Again  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood, Hector, Mark (Tactician MAAAAN)  
Warning(s): Stupidity, fourth wall breakage.  
Genre: Gen

"Don't look now," Hector said, "But I think there is something strange about the tactician."

Anyone who wasn't listening might have thought the scene to be pristine- Eliwood of Pherae and Hector of Ostia standing by a cliff that rolled into gentle forest, the wind at their back, the green of the grass highlighting the contrast between red and blue hair. Anyone who knew them or could hear would realize that Hector was talking nonsense and Eliwood wasn't listening.

"Is that so," Eliwood said, a faraway quality to his voice.

"I'm serious, Eliwood. Don't you think?"

"Give me something to think about."

"Well," Hector said, "We've been fighting this blasted war for ages, and not one death in the army. You'd think he'd slip up at least once."

"Mark is a talented tactician...we should think ourselves lucky, rather than him strange."

"Okay, I'll give you that." Hector paused. "But don't you...ever wonder how he, uh, tacticians us? I don't think I've ever heard him say anything. It's like we just _know_ what to do, and he just walks around and watches."

"We have council with him every day."

"Yeah, but- don't you ever have that weird sensation like you've just died, and then-"

A bolt of lightning raced over his head, singing his hair. In the not-so-far distance, the Fang were on the march, heading straight for their camp. The two of them immediately raised a cry for arms, and in the space between breaths the army prepared itself as well as it could to meet a surprise attack.

Hector found himself on the front lines _again_, because the Tactician seemed to have a thing for the fact that he could smash the stuffing out of someone faster than anyone else in the army (well, except for Marcus, but Marcus seemed to be sitting out of an awful lot of battles lately). He had stumbled into Florina one second too late.

She screamed, a bloodcurdling sound, as the arrows fell onto her and her mount- the thing died even before the last beat of its wings were finished.

"Florina?"

Grabbing her wounded arm, she had no time to adjust her position before they fell together, ten feet to the ground.

"Florina!"

He ran over- but Mark had gotten there first, and was frowning with- frustration?

"Christ, not again," Mark said. Hector suddenly found himself unable to move. Opening his book to the first page, Mark sighed and spoke.

"By the powers vested in me," he chanted in an unnecessarily eerie voice, "I call upon the powers of Ae, Bee, Starte and Selecte! Take us back to the place we were before! RESETTE!"

x x x

"Don't look now," Hector said, "But I think there is something strange about the tactician."

Anyone who wasn't listening might have thought the scene to be pristine- Eliwood of Pherae and Hector of Ostia standing by a cliff that rolled into gentle forest, the wind at their back, the green of the grass highlighting the contrast between red and blue hair. Anyone who knew them or could hear would realize that Hector was talking nonsense and Eliwood wasn't listening.


	2. When All Seemed Lost

**Title**: When All Seemed Lost  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood, Natalie, Dorcas  
Warning(s): Unnecessarily unhappy.  
Genre: Gen

Eliwood, son of Elbert, Marquess Pharae

Lady Natalie-

I pen this note quickly, my hand moving fast so that threatening stray tears do not fall on the parchment before my words are finished.

I will begin with an apology. We are currently deep in enemy territory, far from Pharae; though I have wished to deliver you this news personally, the situation and the polite (and morally correct) procedure are at odds with one another. You must forgive me for this. When this is all over and done with I will visit you and beg for your forgiveness, but for now these letters must fill the space of my words.

The past months have been, as I am sure you are aware, very trying for the Legion, and for Lycia as a whole. We have seen and heard things which (and you must forgive me) I cannot write for fear of my messenger being overtaken- you must wait for me, and I will explain everything in due time. But these trying times have almost come to a close, and we found ourselves back on Dread Isle as of late with hope that a final series of battles would be our last.

We have been blessed with a tactician whose skill is unparalleled- for an army so small facing an army- no, a _force_ so large, to not lose a single member is testimony to his genius. Facing what seemed to be the penultimate foe, a woman named Limstella, we perhaps were reckless and charged in without time to process his words. It proved fatal; we were ambushed from behind.

When all seemed lost- and it did seem lost, Lady Natalie- Dorcas broke from the formation and assaulted the enemy. We had not the time even for a breath before the enemy's army was decimated, but so

Please forgive me. There are some things even I cannot write.

All we can do is offer him, and you, the state funeral a hero deserves. Along with this letter I have sent a message to my financial advisor who will set aside the funds to support you and your condition; if you would like, there will always be an empty room for you in my home, or in House Caelin, or House Ostia, or wherever your heart feels it must go to heal.

But do not grieve excessively, my lady. I do not pretend to know Dorcas as you do, but I believe he would not want you to cry for him. He was a kind soul, soft-spoken, and the last word he spoke was your name.

Eliwood

x x x

_But yet I know, where'er I go,  
That there hath past away a glory from the earth._

-William Wordsworth


	3. Once a Man

**Title**: Once a Man  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem: Sword of Seals  
_Pairing/Characters_: Marcus, Lilina  
Warning(s): Spoilers  
Genre: Gen, kinda angsty

_Do not stand at my grave and weep;  
I am not there. I do not sleep._

"Marcus," Lilina says quietly after the funeral, "What kind of man…was my father?"

Marcus feels a pain in between his eyes and looks up to the sky- it's going to rain soon. "Why do you ask me, lady Lilina?"

"I once heard you telling the soldiers that a battlefield was where a person's true character was revealed."

"Ah." He scoops her up, ignoring the strain in his arms- he's pushing sixty now, but he'll deny that for as long as he can- and sets her on his shoulder. "He was…a unique individual, my lady."

"Unique how?" She takes a piece of his hair and begins to braid it. If she were anyone else he would politely ask her to cease, as he's ashamed of its white colour. To some white signifies wisdom, and to others just age and infirmity.

"He lived without holding back, my lady- like the wind. He had his opinion and he let the world know what he thought. In a way, he was the most honest man I've ever known."

"Was he…kind?"

He thinks about it. "Kind, but in a rude sort of way. He was a difficult man to take in at once. But if there was one thing I knew about him for sure, it was that he never surrendered- not when he had a future to preserve, nor when he had a daughter to raise."

There is a long period of silence. The mourners have left and grey clouds gently roll in, covering the sun.

"I miss him," she declares finally, and musses Marcus' hair. "I miss him so much, but…I don't think he'd want me to cry."

A gentle rain begins to fall. Marcus sets her down, and they walk together away from the awful cold gravestone that was once a great man.

_So do not stand by my grave and cry.  
I am not there.  
I did not die._


	4. And You Have Me

**Title**: And You Have Me  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 6  
_Pairing/Characters_: Fir, Bartre  
Warning(s): None.  
Genre: Gen

Fir wasn't about to say it, but she was glad that the army had crossed paths with her father. It gave her comfort to know that, should she hit rock bottom, there was someone who would cry for her. And, besides, she was ready to ask the questions that he knew the answers to. It was dark when she decided to ask him, after a day of hard marching due north, and the ground was already covered in a thin layer of permafrost.

"Father," she said, sitting next to him by a fire.

"Fir?" He looked towards her, a grin breaking out on his face. "How are you, Fir?"

"Fine…Father. I- have a question." She picked up a stick and threw it on the fire, watching the column of sparks that drifted up. "-About mother and uncle."

"Ah." His expression softened, and his face grew sombre.

"I- mother- what kind of people were they, really?"

"They were- frightening, to say the least." Bartre shivered, and she felt fear through him. "Your mother- the first time we met, she was completely- like a ghost. No emotion. But she was strong, and I respect strong people, so I respected her."

"Because she was a strong woman?"

"No, because she was strong. Come here." Fir, acting on an instinct she thought she had lost ten years prior, arranged herself sitting on her father's lap. He pulled her close. "It's something you'll fight against your entire life…being a swordswoman."

She reached down and played with the hilt of the Wo Dao. "What about uncle?"

"He was hurting back then. Hurting a lot. He was very, very strong but very, very lost- when we first met him all I remember is a wall of silence and a river of blood."

"And…" Her voice was quiet. "…Will that happen to me?"

"No," he returned immediately, so forceful that she almost believed him outright. "No, it won't. Your mother and uncle were searching for people who loved them but couldn't find anyone- so she became cold, and he lost himself. But you have me, and Roy, and everyone else."

"And she had you," Fir said, smiling.

"And she had me," Bartre repeated, and hugged her tight.


	5. To Hell With Bern

**Title**: To Hell With Bern  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 6  
_Pairing/Characters_: Zeiss, Miledy  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

"Zeiss," Miledy says, finding him tending to Rubley in the makeshift stables late at night.

"Miledy," he replies, a little awkward. It's been two days since he turned tail and deserted Bern- there are some growing pains. "I…"

"How are you adjusting to the army?" She fishes through her pocket, finds an apple, and tosses it to Rubley. The wyvern gives a roar of approval and devours the treat.

"It's…different. I'm not used to being labelled a traitor."

Miledy smiles her sad big sister smile and moves closer to him. "Well, you're not the first. Bern has seen many deserters in its day."

"Yes- but that wasn't Bern. That was the Black Fang. Besides, I'm sure that…they knew what they were doing." They do not speak their names in Bern; Heath and Vaida have long been retired as names for children. "And they were part of the army that saved King Zephiel."

"The same King Zephiel who branded them traitors. Zeiss, there is more going on here than you or I know."

"Knowing that won't change what's happened." He's being obstinate, but that's the way Zeiss is. Miledy's always had to work so much harder than him, being a woman, and it's made her into a better person than him; he should hate her for that, but she's too kind to hate.

"Well, that's true. But knowing is half the battle, right?" She pets Rubley's head- in the secret brother-sister language they've had since they first dreamed of being knights, he knows it's the tenderest gesture she can manage. "Roy taught me that. It's better to know and act with the heart than to pretend you don't."

"Feh." He brushes some blood off his wyvern's scales. "To hell with traitors, and to hell with Bern. This is about me figuring out what the heck's going on."

"To hell with Bern," she says, echoing his sentiments.


	6. To Waver

**Title**: To Waver  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 6  
_Pairing/Characters_: Roy, Elphin, Marcus  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

The Sealed Sword sits on a pedestal, watching- and waiting- as he nervously steps towards it. Makeshift tents have already sprung up within the temple walls where the healers are tending to the wounded, the mounted soldiers are tending to their mounts…but no-one dares leave this place, for fear of missing what is to come.

"Go on," Elphin says, gently pushing him forward. "It would be of great help in the trials to follow."

Roy is frightened, of course, more frightened than he's ever been- of a sword, at least. It's a sword that killed dragons; Mother died when he was young, but he overheard Father and Hector, and he's sure there's some dragon somewhere within him.

There's been a lot of Promotion within the army lately. It seemed as though money was flying out of their hands and a steady stream of rings and crests and bolts and whips was filtering in and disappearing for the longest time, but none for Roy. He didn't let it show, of course, because he was a noble, but it was frustrating when everyone seemed to be getting stronger and he was just the same old stagnant kid. It was his world, too, and he wanted to save it just as much as anyone else.

So why, then, should he take the Sealed Sword?

"Give it to Fir," he says, wavering. "She'll handle it better than I could."

Marcus strides up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Lord Eliwood had the same insecurities, but humility does not do well in a time of war, Master Roy."

He imagines Father and Hector and Lady Lyndis, red and green and blue on a battlefield, and wonders what it was like for them. But Eliwood had Durandal and Hector had his Armands and Lyndis had the Sol Katti, so maybe there's a sword for Roy as well.

He breathes in, reaches out, and wraps his hands around the hilt.


	7. Victory

**Title**: Victory  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7/6  
_Pairing/Characters_: Hector, Eliwood, Serra, hint of Hector/Florina  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Hector paced and paced and paced and paced and would have worn a hole straight through the castle floor had Eliwood not grabbed his arm and forced him to sit down. He had just started wringing his hands when another piercing wail filtered through the doors to the master bedroom. Eliwood had Hector's sleeve in his hand before the larger man could barrel into the room.

"She _needs_ me," he growled through clenched teeth.

"She does not need you, Hector." Eliwood's tugging got him to sit down again. "She is not the first woman to give birth. Besides, she's in the hands of the best nursemaids in Ostia. She'll be fine."

"She's in _Serra's_ hands…besides, she's not the first woman to give birth, but she's my wife, and…"

Eliwood put a hand on Hector's shoulder. "Believe me, I know-"

There came another scream, followed by a hushed silence, then a tired sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. He tensed for what seemed like hours, more afraid than he had been at any point in his life- and then a wail, but smaller now, frailer, more fragile.

"Shit," he said, falling back into the chair. Eliwood's hand still had not left his shoulder, but it relaxed. The wails and cries were replaced by a multitude of voices; he picked out Serra barking orders, and Matthew and Oswin and Florina's tired little sighs. Fifteen terrible minutes later Serra glided out of the room, a bundle in her hands.

"Congratulations, Lord Hector," she chirped, "It's a girl."

Hector had seen a lot of things in his life- blood, death, creatures from thousands of years past- and never once had he cried. But when Serra leaned over and gently placed the tiny bundle in his hands, pushing a blanket back to reveal an angelic little face and a crop of blue hair, he knew they had won, they had won, and the tears fell like rain.


	8. In Dark Places

**Title**: In Dark Places  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen  
The piece for which this collection was named, and quite possibly my favourite thing I have written so far.

After months and months of marching and fighting, Eliwood was afraid he was losing sight of his purpose. In the ages since he had left home, naively thinking he could find his father alive somehow, he had seen too much; now he was exhausted and covered in open wounds both on the outside and inside. It was becoming too much for him to bear.

He had seen his father- his _father_, the man who picked him up and held him high when he was too young to stand on his own- die in his arms, and hundreds more men die by his hands, men no doubt with wives and children back home. His hands were stained, were stained deep red, and as he pulled his rapier out of the heart of another innocent Bernese he knew he couldn't do it anymore.

So while the army set up camp to celebrate another successful (successful?) battle he stumbled, drunk on his tears, through a nearby village. Bern allocation of funding was clear; the population was destitute, the poverty almost unbearable.

Around sunset he stumbled upon a boy, perhaps ten years old, sitting in the middle of the road. He was dirty and frail but seemed not to notice the cold weather as he painstakingly rounded off a broken mirror shard on a rock. Eliwood knelt down next to him, feeling so out of place in noble reds and blues, and watched him for the better part of an hour. Finally he gathered the courage to speak.

"What are you…doing?" His throat was still sore from crying.

"Playing a game," the child said, distracted. Finally he looked up and showed Eliwood the mirror fragment. "It's pretty fun."

Eliwood followed the mirror with his eyes as the boy angled it carefully, getting the fading sunlight to bounce off into a nearby crevice. "It's hard, but not impossible – I try to get light to shine in the darkest places. Wanna try?"

Once it was too dark to continue he took the boy back to the shack where he lived with his mother. As he was walking towards camp it hit Eliwood with the force of a hurricane – his purpose, his reason for fighting, and his will to carry on.

_I will shine light in dark places._


	9. Mother

**Title**: Mother  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 6  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood, Roy, hints of Eliwood/Ninian  
Warning(s): Spoilers.  
Genre: Gen

"Roy," Eliwood says, quietly, softly, from the chair in which he sits. "Come here. There is something I need to tell you."

Roy does, obeying with neither fear nor insolence. Eliwood pauses for a moment to take in his eight-year-old only child. His chubby features will soon disappear and be replaced with lines and angles - he supposes it runs in the family, for his father once told him that he, too, was once a little cherub. But the same way Elbert vanished into the dark, dark void, now he too must inform his only son-

"You're crying, Father. Where is Mother?" Roy climbs into Eliwood's lap and squirms a little. Eliwood is once again impressed by his son's ability to read others, something that will serve him well in the years to come.

He sighs and plays with Roy's hair. "Mother was ill, very ill."

"Yes, and the doctors didn't let me play in her room."

"Roy." He looks deep into his son's eyes, looking for traces of his mother's red. "There is something I must tell you about your mother. She was - has your tutor told you about dragons?"

"Yes, Father."

"She was a dragon, Roy."

Roy recoils ever so slightly. Eliwood hopes it is more surprise and less horror. "A...d-"

"A dragon, who took human form. They were great allies to us during our battles with the Black Fang - and there are no doctors in all Lycia who know how to heal a sick dragon."

"So...mother is-"

Eliwood cannot say it, but Roy is old enough to understand. He holds his son tight and they weep, and weep, and weep. Eventually it grows dark and a lonely bell tolls to announce that dinner is ready, and the mask goes back on Eliwood's face.

"Roy, my son," he says, getting up and taking his hand. "You carry within you thousands of years of your mother's lineage. One day, it may come back to haunt you - but I pray that day will never come."

x x x

Hahn's eyes are dark with fury as Roy and his legion approach where he sits. They have carved their way to him through the bodies of Mamkutes, lying dead and bleeding fire throughout the temple.

"Why," Hahn growls, his voice low and terrible. "Why? You are our _brother_!"

Eliwood's warning echoes in Roy's ears.


	10. Little Things

**Title**: Little Things  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Lucius  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

It was not an earthly church, and did not leave its followers commandments to amass wealth, but at the same time understood and allowed for the natural human tendency to collect things. Objects were natural storage systems for memories, after all – and, ultimately, memories were the most important thing for a man or woman to accumulate. Without memory there was no personal history, and without personal history there was little to affirm that they had lived at all.

So Lucius, two months after he and Lord Raymond had joined Lord Hector and his friends in the fight against the darkness that sought to devour, had acquired many things. He kept most in his pouch; a petal from a flower unharmed by battle on Dread Isle, a heart-shaped stone charred by fire in Badon, a figurine from the mysterious priest that they had met before they stumbled upon Kishuna, among many other things. He carried them with him into battle, a little piece of himself that would be burned with his body should he meet an early and untimely end.

He knew he shouldn't have been putting so much love and energy into small things when the Lady Saint deserved his full devotion, but they kept him grounded in reality. They kept him looking forward while keeping an eye on what was behind him, and allowed him to appreciate his life that could end at any moment. He was certain that the Lady Saint would forgive him if he attributed his safety both to the corporeal world and Her good graces.

And when that stone from Badon happened to be in the exact right location to stop a lance strike that certainly would have taken his life – well, that confirmed his belief that it was the little things that kept him alive.


	11. Fat One

**Title**: Fat One  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood, Hector, Lyn  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

It was a cold morning, so Lowen and Rebecca stirred up some gruel. There were leftover apples that Matthew had procured from a nearby orchard, and freshly caught rabbits courtesy of Rath and Kent. It was a tasty breakfast, rich but not heavy.

It was a strange occurrence, of course, when Eliwood asked for seconds – Eliwood never asked for seconds, and everyone noticed but nobody could say anything. He smiled his noble smile, ate with tiny bites (while the snarling beast called Hector, sitting next to him, attacked his gruel like a carnivore attacks a carcass) and excused himself when he was done to discuss the day's march with the tactician.

Good nutrition and finally having enough time between last seeing his father and the present had helped him greatly; the dark circles under his eyes and thinness of his wrists were disappearing, and his sunny disposition was returning with only a hint of grey.

"He's getting a little taller, isn't he?" Lyn set down her bowl and spoon. "He's a little thicker, too – eating better than he used to. I was getting worried about him."

"You wasted your time. Used to pick at his food like a little girl…maybe he hit puberty." Hector spooned out and flung the last bit of gruel in Oswin's direction, eliciting a grumble from the knight.

"You and I both know that's not it."

"You didn't grow up around nobility."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, we have fat ones and thin ones, and few in between."

Lyn gave him a sidelong glance, then a grin lit up her face. "And you're a fat one, then?"

He punched her on the arm and started a miniature brawl, but it was too late – with Sain's help, soon everyone was calling him 'fat one'.


	12. Kanpai

**Title**: Kanpai  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood, Hector, Lyn  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Eliwood drank light wine and Hector drank heavy beer, another simple fact that brought to light the startling contrast between the two noblemen with all its ramifications. After all, wine is partaken at fancy dinners with salads and dainty sauces; beer is slugged in taverns with meat and more meat. Wine puts the 'noble' in 'nobleman', and beer provides the 'man'. And yet, despite this, they seemed to tolerate one another rather well – Eliwood understanding Hector's penchant for rudeness, Hector putting up with Eliwood's delicacy and occasional forays into the quasi-feminine – enough, at least, to lead an army together.

But Lyn (who, for the record, drank wine while playing the noblewoman and Sacaean whiskey at all other times) had spent enough of her life on the plains to see through their differences to the heart of the matter: neither could lead an army alone. When Hector was rash, Eliwood thought things through. When Eliwood was melancholy, Hector could jump in axe-first. And she…well, when the two of them were off with Mark drawing up maps and charts and strategies, she was female enough to remind them of the women and children involved.

So maybe she, with her flask of whiskey at her hip and her hard-edged kindness, was lost somewhere in the sameness and difference as well; Eliwood was noble, Hector was rash, Lyndis was – free. Free like the tribesmen in her homeland, aging grain in homemade barrels, sharing a glass with brothers and sisters in the morning to keep themselves warm –

"An' _then_," Hector said, his cheeks dark red, drunk on victory and Ilian rum, "She says 'Hec'tr, when I f'rst – f'rst _met_ you – you – Lyn! I'm _tellin' _a story 'bout your purple friend here!"

– Or maybe she was reading too much into the whole thing. She picked up her glass, and toasted with Eliwood to life.


	13. Recruit

**Title**: Recruit  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 8  
_Pairing/Characters_: Ephraim, Amelia  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Part 1 in a series.

Amelia was down by the river, stripped down to her underthings, trying fruitlessly to wash the blood and monster guts off of her clothing when Ephraim found her. It was the most unladylike thing to possibly be caught doing, and by a Lord no less; he seemed to have a knack for catching her at unseemly times. She had shrieked, of course, and by reflex covered her bare stomach, and he smiled his easy smile before hopping down to where she was.

"It'd be impossible to sneak up on you," he said, with a laugh. "I should give you more guard duty – you'd wake up the entire army in a heartbeat with those lungs of yours. How are you faring, Amelia?"

The question threw her, so she took a moment before even realizing that she was supposed to answer. "…Fine, I – suppose."

She looked up to Ephraim. He used a lance, too, and wore even less armour than she did. Sir Seth had once told her that the Obsidian himself had trained him back when there was no war. But Sir Seth was incredibly strong as well – she wanted to be strong like that one day. She wasn't too strong or fast, but she was good at trying hard and tripping over her lance.

"You look lost in thought," Ephraim said, stirring her out of her reverie. He knelt by the river, stripped off a glove and stirred the water with a finger. "Is it something you want to talk about?"

She blushed and looked away, suddenly very painfully aware of her state of undress. "When I was first given my armour, it was way too heavy for me to properly walk in - and you saw how I carried my lance, sir. I could barely lift it. But I think I've gotten a lot more used to it now, despite how much lighter it is than Sir Gilliam's or, um, Sir Franz's-"

"If you had to choose," he effortlessly interrupted as she was about to change the topic to people stronger than her, "Would you want to be a knight like Gilliam or a cavalier like Franz?"

"I don't think I-"

"If you could."

She wrung out her shirt and sniffed it, reeling from the stench. After a few moments of consideration, she sighed. "A knight," she said. "I'm not very good with horses and I'd feel, erm-" She lowered her voice, "Important - you know, being out on the front lines, protecting everyone instead of having to be protected."

He stood up and handed her a large, soft parcel she had not seen on him when he first approached her. "Put these on and meet me at Gilliam's tent in five minutes. I trust you know where it is, right?"

"I –"

He was already gone, heading back towards camp.


	14. Custom Fit

**Title**: Custom Fit**  
Fandom**: Fire Emblem 8_  
Pairing/Characters_: Ephraim, Amelia, Gilliam  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen  
Part 2 in a series.

Three minutes later, Amelia found herself nervously approaching Gilliam's tent. The parcel had contained clothes - a simple tanned leather shirt that was tied around her waist with a cord and pants made of the same material. It felt slightly rough against her skin. It was a good feeling.

She could hear muted voices from inside the tent.

"S-sir Gilliam?" She resisted the urge to knock against his tent flap. "Sir Ephraim asked me to pay you a visit. Are you there?"

"One moment," came Ephraim's voice from inside. "Your habit of being early for everything will be the death of me, Amelia. Okay – there, come in."

Carefully, she drew back the heavy material that made the door of the tent and looked inside. What waited there for her was something absolutely incredible.

It was – pink, very pink. Pink as mischew berries, the ones she had eaten on the long trek to Grado's capital. It was pink but it shone like precious metal; she resisted the urge to reach out and touch, but eventually curiosity got the better of her and confirmed that it was, indeed, made of plates of steel.

"You like it?" She turned to face Gilliam. "Had it custom fit, you're not the bulkiest lass out there. But you won't find a better suit of armour anywhere – Frelian blacksmiths and a bit of Rausten magic. Want to try it on?"

She almost said no; the thing was too glorious, and she was afraid she'd be swallowed up in it. But Ephraim helped her into the boots and leg guards, Gilliam pulled on the chest and shoulder plates, and she pulled on the gloves and eventually the helmet. It was almost too heavy, but had a good kind of heaviness, like her lance, or like love.

A custom fit indeed.


	15. Praise

**Title**: Praise  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 8  
_Pairing/Characters_: Amelia, Gilliam  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Part 3 in a series.

"Not like that," Gilliam said, frowning. "You hold your lance like you're about to pick a giant's tooth. Hold it with authority. Do it again."

"Yes, Sir Gilliam," Amelia called through her helmet. Every muscle in her body seemed to be screeching in a perfect harmony of pain, and her sweat had soaked straight through her underclothes to the steel armour that encased her. She was tired and uncomfortable, and any person in their right mind would have told Gilliam that these Frelian exercises were meant for men, men who could lift their lances and wear their armour without feeling the weight – but she wasn't in her right mind, she was much too tired for that.

She hoisted her lance up, holding it pointed forwards with both arms (she was supposed to do it delicately – in Gilliam's words, like holding a baby elephant – but she was far beyond delicacy with a fifty pound spear now), and began the set again; she took a step, swung the lance forward with a grunt, and stepped back to return. On the second repetition her legs buckled under her and her world faded to black.

When she awoke she was in a tent, tucked into a sleeping bag that wasn't her own. A fire crackling outside caught her attention; she rolled out of bed, winced from the pain, and drew open the flap. It was night. Gilliam was eating bread with stew, but stopped when he realized she was there.

"You're here," Gilliam said, in his gruff sort of way. He held out a plate and a cup of water, which she took appreciatively and sat down on the ground next to him. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he waved it away. "You did well, lass. I don't know many soldiers who'd train until they killed themselves – and you may well have done that, if your body hadn't given up on you. Get some rest, and we'll get back to training in the morning."

If Gilliam was someone else, his words may have well been a hug and glowing praise. She took it as such.


	16. Sable

**Title**: Sable  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 11  
_Pairing/Characters_: Marth, Nyna  
Warning(s): Spoilers  
Genre: Gen

Camus, even in death, seemed somehow larger than a normal man. When the dust was cleared and the castle was in their possession the League scoured the battlefield for bodies as per usual, giving each a proper burial; Marth and Nyna stood by Camus for a long while, each trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Death was instantaneous," Marth said, and pointed to a clean hole right where his heart used to be. "Tiki was concerned about using her Divine Stone, as it can only be used so many times, but I…wanted it to be a clean death. Is that worth anything?"

Nyna said nothing in response, dropping to her knees; they both knew that death was paradoxically both the most costly thing and yet worth absolutely nothing. She reached out with a gloved hand and stroked the side of his face. "Look how he smiles, Prince Marth. I think – he was glad to see you, and knew it was his final hour."

Marth shook his head, then looked up to the gray clouds that had gathered. "It is a dark day. Mankind has lost its finest warrior. Princess Nyna, if you –"

"—No," she said. "I am through mourning as Nyna the woman. I have begun mourning as Nyna the princess who loved Camus, but understands that all men die eventually. His body should be honoured."

Barst, with Xane's help, carved a headstone; Abel and Cain felled a nearby oak, which they fashioned into a casket. It took some time – Camus was six feet four inches, but had eight feet of presence – but by nightfall it was finished, and Lena recited a funeral prayer from memory.

The irony was not lost on Marth. Camus the Sable was a memory now, a man who had fought with honour and dignity even when faced with death. Perhaps in another world at another time they could have been close companions, but Camus was dead now, and Medeus would pay dearly for it.


	17. First Time

**Title**: First Time  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 11  
_Pairing/Characters_: Marth, Shiida  
Warning(s): Spoilers  
Genre: Gen

The marriage was a highly public affair with two ceremonies – one in Altea, where one could still smell charred flesh and dragon scales, and one in Talys. Prince Marth was so handsome in his white silk suit, and Princess Shiida so beautiful in her white silk gown; they looked like angels, or mermaids at least, with their matching blue hair. The sounds of joy and celebration could be heard in the far corners of the revitalized Earth.

When the ceremonies were over they returned (exhausted, of course) to Altea for a much more private celebration. It was less a party and more a reunion for members of the League, some still in bandages, others nursing invisible wounds. But the air in the Altean castle hall was light; victory was theirs, and they had every right and intention to enjoy it in full.

They reminisced, they laughed, they cried, they had a moment of silence for Jagen, killed by the Sable Order in an act of desperation, and at the end of the night they shook hands and parted ways. There was little pomp and circumstance for them; few of them were knights, the rest woodcutters and pirates and men and women who just wanted to go home and tend to their families. Some pledged to stay in touch, others they knew they would never see again.

The two of them, alone but for the castle guard, excused themselves to their bedchambers. Waving away servants and maids he helped her out of her dress and she out of his suit until they were sitting in their underclothes side-by-side on the bed, looking out the window at the swollen moon.

Neither of them were ones who fed off of the restrained aura of nobility, but both understood their roles and were ready to accomplish them. She was nervous, of course; carrying a child would keep her off her pegasus and raising a family perhaps even more so, but she had accepted that the day she fell in love with Marth.

So they met each other that night, for the first time.


	18. As He Died

**Title**: As He Died  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 11  
_Pairing/Characters_: Marth, Jagen  
Warning(s): Spoilers, character death  
Genre: Gen

Marth had never known true fear in his life before that moment - he had known apprehension during a training or tactics exercise, he had known dread before a difficult test, but he had never known what that feeling of imminent death was, that one's life would soon be coming to an end, until then.

"Gra's main force," Malledus says, his voice barely a whisper, "Flanked by knights of Grust's Sable Order. We have –"

"—No chance?" Marth wishes that he could be brave, but the white snake is coiling and uncoiling inside of his stomach. He was a fool to think he could play the brave hero, running from two mad nations in broad daylight with only four knights to protect him.

They have a chance, of course, but as Malledus explains it Marth knows he cannot stand for it. Their only hope is to send someone to their death; it is lunacy, madness even to consider it. Marth has committed many grave errors in his life but never has he ordered someone innocent and unwilling to die. He knows that his indecision is going to kill them all, but indecision is all he has left.

In their twenty-third hour, Gra advancing on them, Jagen stands up. He throws down his weapons and taes off his armour, revealing that he, too, is just a man – and an old man, when he is stripped of his knighthood. Before a word can be said in protest he rides out of the fort into the forest. Malledus calls on both Cain and Abel to hold Marth back from running after his teacher and friend. It is the last that anyone ever sees of Jagen.

Marth is plagued with nightmares from that day forth, his nights filled with the image of Jagen's back disappearing into the deep green to death or worse. It is the prince in him that mourns for others, and the child that refuses to recall the smile on Jagen's face as he did so. The nightmares do not stop until years later when they stumble back to Altea and find a waterlogged body tied to a rock at the bottom of the lake near the fort, and the grin is still there.


	19. A Capacity to Change

**Title**: A Capacity to Change  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem  
_Pairing/Characters_: Guy  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Part 1 in a series.

"_I know I'm not good enough to fight you now. So, just train me in the sword. In one year's time, I swear I will master the art. Enough to match you - enough to best you!"_

"…_You seem to mean it, don't you?"_

"_Y-Yes!"_

"_Very well. From tonight, we begin your training. You will learn the sword."_

x x x

Guy took his time preparing for sleep, washing his face carefully, cleaning his dishes slowly, but even though it was well past nightfall when he mumbled his good nights to Matthew and slid into his bedroll, Karel still had not approached him. He had been promised that his training would begin that night, but – well, there was no use thinking about it; Sacaeans never told lies, but perhaps Karel had forgotten.

He slipped into sleep lightly yet easily, something he'd been trained to do since the day he was born, and dreamed of the first time they saw Karel. Eliwood's words had been slow and careful, and then there was a flash of silver, a wall of silence and a sea of blood. As they watched in horror, their enemies fell to piece after piece, until the entire battlefield was littered with bodies and memories

Karel was – Karel was a demon, the red-eyed, black-haired demon Father had warned him about when he was a boy. He killed messily and without mercy, hungry for blood before he was hungry for death. Was it the right decision to ask to train under him? Would he become a demon himself for it? It was said that the path of the sword belonged to none, but if his path was tainted –

No, there was no use regretting his decision now. Karel would not stain his blade, he would see to that. And if Karel had the capacity to change him…maybe he had the capacity to change Karel. He couldn't lie to himself about that possibility. Sacaeans never tell lies.


	20. Resourcefulness

**Title**: Resourcefulness  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Guy, Karel  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Part 2 in a series.

He was in the middle of a dream when a blow to the ribs jolted him awake. There was first the sound, the sharp crack of metal on bone, then a white-hot spark of pain that went straight from his chest to his eyes. He opened them and looked straight into the last thing thousands of men had seen before they died.

In a thin stream of moonlight filtering through his tent flap Karel's demonic eyes were fully lit, half reflecting the light and half revealing the chaos and evil churning within him. The hilt of the Wo Dao had been tossed aside – Karel had struck with it, hard enough to break Guy's flesh and bruise his ribs – and the man was now climbing onto his chest, holding the sword with the point millimetres above his neck.

"My," he said, "Your ribs didn't break."

He tried to get up, but his current position gave him no space to move. "H-Hey! No fai—"

The Wo Dao inched closer to his throat. "There is no fairness on a battlefield. You are a fool."

_No fairness? I'll show you no fairness._ He jerked his knee and hit Karel where he was a man and not a demon. With the tiniest space to move given in that moment of confusion he tossed Karel off, rolled to the side and grabbed the Killing Edge, then raced out of the tent and turned towards it.

Karel stepped out slowly. The look on his face – well, it wasn't a look that Guy ever wanted to see again.

"You're resourceful," he said, "I'll give you that. But you are dead if you ever try that again. Now come! Show me the best that you can offer!"

They fought until dawn, and more than once Guy was certain he was going to be killed and have his body left to rot. But he wasn't, and finally Karel threw him a towel and told him to go back to bed. He fell asleep an hour before Lowen rang the breakfast bell, feeling as though he had made a little victory that morning.


	21. A Quick Exchange

**Title**: A Quick Exchange  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Guy, Karel  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

Part 3 in a series.

Karel was, in a way, like Matthew. He began training sessions (by attacking Guy) with not even a moment's notice at the most inopportune times – during a meal, while he was sleeping, in the middle of a battle. Of course, Guy never told either of them about this similarity he had found between them, for he liked his head where it was very much (attached to his shoulders), thank you.

He wondered if he should thank Matthew for all those surprise attacks. If he hadn't been prepared for those sorts of things, he probably would have been killed by Karel's training.

In the midst of another Black Fang attack he was taking a moment to rest in a dense forest, cleaning blood and all else off his blade (the Killing Edge was looking a little worn – he would have to look for something else to use, or find a good stone to sharpen it with - Hector would likely have one) when a sudden movement in the upper branches caught his attention. He lifted his sword just in time to parry the blow before it connected with his face.

The entire exchange lasted perhaps a full minute, and ended with him on one knee, drenched in sweat, with Karel looming over him. In a sudden movement he sheathed the Wo Dao and grabbed Guy's arm, pulling him up roughly.

"Never rest on the battlefield," Karel half-growled. He pulled a flask of water from his waist and tossed it towards Guy, who drank appreciatively. When he was done he tossed it back and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve; Karel caught it though his attention was focused elsewhere. "…I smell blood. Come."

"C-come? I—" But Karel was already gone, vanished into the lush greens of the forest. Guy sheathed his own sword and made to follow him.

It was the first time Karel had compelled him to be by his side during a battle. Perhaps he was seeing him as more of an equal. Despite the implications, Guy found himself with a silly grin.


	22. Meanwhile, Inside a Fangirl's Head

**Title**: Meanwhile, Inside a Fangirl's Head  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Mark, Serra  
Warning(s): Stupid  
Genre: Gen

"Me?" Serra pointed to herself for emphasis.

"Yes, you." Mark looked up from the book he was writing in. "Though it may be embarrassing to say, I need to know about these sorts of things. I figured you would be best versed in the army's...gossip."

Serra turned red, but a coy smile lit up her features. "…Pent and Louise."

"Figures," Mark said. "I suppose there's no harm as long as they don't disturb anyone."

"Hector and Florina."

"Strange, I thought –"

"Eliwood and Ninian. Lyn and Kent. Lowen and Rebecca. Harken and Isadora. Sain and –" She counted on her fingers. "Well, a lot of those are from his mouth, and you know how well we can trust what _Sain_ says, so never mind. Raven and Lucius. Priscilla tried to do it with Erk but I think he turned her down. Heath and Legault –"

"…_Heath and Legault?_"

"Heath was drunk. Bartre and Karla –"

"– I'm surprised Karel hasn't killed him –"

"– I'm not _done_. Nino and Jaffar – well, she made him swear they'd do it when she turned sixteen. Wallace and Vaida, and, um…I think that's it."

Mark gave her a look.

"…All right. Me and Oswin. But…don't tell anyone."

He sighed. "I suppose that's why Merlinus waggled his eyebrows and told me we were out of 'those'. We'll have to pick up contraceptives in the next town we hit. I guess I should be thankful that everyone is monogamous, or else –"

"Oh, you wanted _everyone_? I thought you just wanted the people who took it seriously."

"What –"

"Well, Hector did it with Eliwood and Lyndis and Farina and Matthew, and Eliwood with Fiora and I think with Lyn too, and Lyn with Florina for sure and Rath and Wil, and, um, let's see – Rath did it with Guy and Wil, who did it with Dart and Rebecca and I think Raven…"


	23. At Ease

**Title**: At Ease  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 11  
_Pairing/Characters_: Marth, Xane  
Warning(s): Spoilers  
Genre: Gen

Marth didn't consider what he did to be outright brooding, but sometimes his long periods of dwelling or thinking were rather dark in nature. After a difficult battle or decision he would shut himself in his tent for an hour or two and saw no-one.

The army seemed to have little to say about his fickleness, but if there was one thing Xane hated, it was people who got fixated and depressed by things. Holding on to the past stuck it to the heart like a weight, and slowed you down in the end – and Xane had no patience for slow people. So he took it upon himself to lift Marth out of his little cloud of dark.

It took a lot of concentration for the transformation; he had very little essence, just enough to mimic the form and the brute strength. The skill with lance and sword took more than a dead man buried with rain and tears could give.

He took a deep breath before pushing open the tent flap, ignoring the small sound of protest that came from within. Marth lifted his head from where it was held in his hands and gave a choked sound of surprise.

"C – Camus?" He shook his head and lowered it again. "No – no, it is an illusion."

"I haven't much time," Xane said, struggling to keep his voice calm and smooth like the Sable knight. "Listen to me, Marth. There is something I need to tell you."

Marth was silent, so he knelt in front of the prince and took his hand. "Marth. You did what you had to do – and you made the right decision. Though our ideals differed, you must remember to stay optimistic, and I am glad that you and I–"

Apparently he had much less essence than he thought, and the transformation broke. He fell backward and felt the colour drain from his face, then stood up and brushed his shirt off.

"Right," he said, more embarrassed than he'd ever been. "Well, uh, that was pretty –"

"Xane." Marth's voice compelled him to look him in the eye, and to his surprise he seemed more at ease than anything. "– You're right. Thank you."


	24. Bland

**Title**: Bland  
**Fandom**: Fire Emblem 7  
_Pairing/Characters_: Eliwood  
Warning(s): None  
Genre: Gen

As he quickly discovered upon returning to court, fighting a war had stripped many of the formalities from Eliwood's habits. One of the most immediately obvious of those was the way he conducted himself at the dinner table – he had forgotten which fork to use, which way to tip the bowl, how to thank the server, and otherwise how to eat without having every single member of the court stare at him with mixed shock and disgust.

Not that he really liked that way of eating, but war had changed him, and made him aware of how silly it all ways.

"Sorry," he whispered to the server (it wasn't impolite if nobody heard you), "But what is this?" He motioned towards the plate in front of him, on which there was nothing but a pale green – rectangular prism, with a hint of a deep red sauce.

The server gave him a look, but spoke anyways. "Yuba and tofu cooked Mille-Feuille-style with dried shrimp roe, my liege. Mashed tofu was mixed with scallops, dried shrimp, green onions and soy beans, and then blended with cream, layered with bean curd sheets and steamed. The sauce is a bend of oyster sauce and shrimp roe, and–"

_--This dish sounds as dry as Oswin's sense of humour._ He chuckled to himself, surprised by his newfound wit (he supposed Hector was to blame). His mouth ached for something substantial and simple, something plebeian – he wondered if he would be able to sneak out later to where the knights were eating, and implore Lowen to skin a rabbit and cook it in broth for him.

"Thank you," he whispered, cutting the server off. He cut a small piece and took a bite. It was bland – bland as life back at home. Perhaps he would have to teach himself to hunt before he went mad.


End file.
